


The More

by LearnedFoot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Holding Hands, Touch-Starved, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: Natasha is determined to get to know Nebula.
Relationships: Nebula/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	The More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



The night after their failed attempt to force Thanos to reverse what he’s done, Natasha finds Nebula alone in the room in the compound that’s been assigned to her, sitting on the edge of a neatly made bed, staring into her hands.

She doesn’t bother knocking before pushing the door open and striding in; she’d be denied, and she’s not here to be denied. Nebula immediately leaps to her feet, falling into a defensive crouch.

“Hello to you, too,” Natasha says, causal as can be, as if the person she’s speaking to doesn’t look ready to physically rip her head off for daring to exist. “Dinner’s ready.”

Nebula straightens; her hands fall to her side, but she doesn’t relax. “No.”

It’s what Natasha expected. Undeterred, she saunters further into the room, marking how Nebula backs away even though they’re still several feet apart. “You know we have security here, right? You don’t need to be on high alert every second.”

“You are.”

Huh. She’s correct, of course, but most people don’t pick up on it, not when Natasha doesn’t want them to, and she definitely did not want Nebula to. She doesn’t let her surprise show, quirking her lip into a gentle smile instead. “Fair enough. But you know that means you can trust me when I say the food’s not poisoned. Come on, I assume you need to eat.”

She’s not actually positive about that assumption; she’s seen Nebula consume food, but that doesn’t mean she requires it. It’s worth a shot, though. The gamble pays off; Nebula nods, a stiff, jerking movement.

“Then let me repeat: dinner’s ready. Everyone’s already there.”

Nebula shakes her head, returning to her bed. “I will eat later. Alone.”

“Okay, then.” Natasha shrugs, as if it doesn’t make a difference to her. She doesn’t add: okay _for now_.

***

The next evening, she brings Nebula a sandwich, carrying a second for herself. She tucks a bottle of vodka under her arm, too.

When she once again bursts in uninvited, Nebula just stares at her.

“I made these,” Natasha says, waving the sandwiches in her direction. “I don’t know how they do things in space, but here on Earth, it’s rude to turn down a home-cooked meal.”

Nebula keeps staring. Then, deadpan, she says, “Does it qualify as ‘home-cooked’ if all you did was cut some bread?”

Her voice is so intense—breathy, seductive even, in its violence—it takes Natasha half a second to register it’s a joke. When she gets it, she laughs.

It means she’s won.

***

Nebula’s room is spare, with nothing but a bed and a small dresser, so they eat on the floor, legs crossed, passing the bottle of vodka. It reminds Natasha of a scene from some movie she can’t place; teens at a sleepover, rebelling for the first time. Not that she ever experienced any such thing as a teenager. She suspects Nebula didn’t, either.

It doesn’t take long to notice Nebula is studiously avoiding any touch, even when the bottle changes hands. Interesting.

Familiar.

The next time the bottle passes hands, Natasha makes sure their fingers brush. And—yep. Exactly as predicted, Nebula’s breath hitches; she freezes, startled, then snatches her hand away.

“Yeah, I didn’t like strangers touching me after I got out, either,” Natasha says, conversationally. “My advice? Learn to get over that. Life’s a lot nicer once you can enjoy a hug. Or more than a hug.”

Nebula considers this, fingers flexing where she’s hidden them in her lap. When she speaks, she focuses in on the wrong part. “After you got out from where?”

“What type of girl do you take me for? I don’t give out that kind of information until at least the third date.” Based on the way Nebula frowns, she doesn’t have the cultural context to get what Natasha means, so she adds, “I’m saying, if you want my tragic backstory, we need to do this again sometime.”

It’s another calculated risk: if the overture is turned down, that could mean any chance of connection is lost. Nebula might hop into her spaceship and jet off to another corner of the galaxy, which would suck. They need all the help they can get.

There’s a long pause, long enough that Natasha worries she’s miscalculated, but then Nebula’s mouth twitches up at the edges. “I would like that.”

***

At their third dinner, Natasha tells her about the Red Room. Not the details, but enough to make Nebula’s eyes go wide.

“Oh,” she breathes. “You understand.”

***

That night, replaying the conversation, Natasha admits to herself: it wasn’t just the team’s best interest she’s been looking out for. _Oh, you understand_ goes both ways.

It’s nice to have someone who understands.

***

A week after that, Nebula interrupts their dinner by reaching across the space between them with her non-mechanical arm. She stops a hair’s breadth away from Natasha’s hand, fingers trembling.

She waits a long beat before whispering, “Will you teach me how to...touch?”

Carefully, Natasha places her hand over the one Nebula extended. “I thought you’d never ask.”

A shiver runs through the Nebula’s body—one Natasha recognizes, with startling familiarity. She’d almost forgotten what it’s like for something so small to mean everything.

“Good,” she says, encouraging. “Normally, at this point, people weave their fingers together. It’s called holding hands.”

Nebula snorts. “I’m not a child. I know that. I was hoping that you could show me more than hand holding.”

Natasha cocks a questioning eyebrow. “More?”

“You said ‘life’s a lot nicer once you can enjoy a hug. Or more than a hug.’ Show me the more.”

“Ah.” Natasha leans forward, licking her lips. “Well, do they have kissing where you come from?”

***

(They do.)

***

The next night, Nebula comes to dinner with the rest of the team.

“If I’m going to stay, I should know the team,” Nebula explains after Natasha corners her in the kitchen to ask why the change of heart.

“So you’re staying?”

Nebula inclines her head. Her knuckles graze the back of Natasha’s hand. “I still...have much to learn. If you’re willing to keep teaching me.”

Natasha can feel a genuine smile trying to force its way onto her face against her will. It’s a foreign sensation. “Yeah, I can definitely do that.”

She entwines their fingers, and lets the smile win.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved (including any typos you catch...I wrote a lot in the last few weeks, I imagine there are some.)
> 
> This was originally written for an exchange, and re-dated for author reveals. I'm sorry if you've seen it already.


End file.
